Kissing Riza Hawkeye
by Em Michele
Summary: When you've known the love of your life since childhood, things like "first kisses" get complicated...
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello again, all. It's been a while.

This story has two interesting things to note before we begin.

1) The story as a whole is inspired by my best friend, who dated her husband twice before marrying him, and so therefore has two "first kisses" with him ^_^ I always thought Roy and Riza would have a few different first kisses, as they're together for so long through so much. The idea is looking at how they come together after something (time, circumstances, etc.) has separated them throughout their lives.

2) The idea for this scene was thought up almost 5 years ago with different characters and I could never quite make it work. To my surprise, I discovered it was because the scene was written for characters I hadn't even met yet.

Anyway, all chapters are technically stand alone stories. This chapter only has spoilers through about episode 30 of brotherhood, later chapters will have more. If you have the time, I'd absolutely love a review.

Thanks a million!

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><p><strong>Kissing Riza Hawkeye<strong>

_The first time he kissed Riza Hawkeye, they were both little more than children. Sun-drenched and golden, it was one of the few memories Roy could recall that was not tainted by the pain and anguish that would affect their lives in later years. _

A light breeze flutters through the grass as Roy climbs the hill to the Hawkeye house. It is one of the first truly warm days of summer, and even from this distance he can see all the shutters of the house are thrown open to welcome in the fresh air. He pauses to catch his breath as he watches the house for signs of movement. Even though he is too far away to truly see anything, he imagines he sees a flash of golden hair in one of the upper windows, and he smiles at the thought.

It has been three weeks since he has seen either his master or, perhaps more importantly, his master's daughter. Riza is only fifteen, and to a boy-almost-man of sixteen, the nine months between them makes a world of difference. In the three years he has spent studying at the Hawkeye household he has seen fit to adopt the girl as the little sister he never knew he wanted. She is his confidant, his partner in crime, and only recently has he realized she is the best friend he has ever had. Fresh from an extended visit with his mother and sisters in the city, he finds he can hardly wait to see her again, to watch her eyes light up as he tells stores of his exploits in a city she has never visited, and to hear how she and her father have kept themselves busy without him.

Though he is practically a member of the family, Roy still stops and knocks on the front door. His mother has raised him to be courteous, and Master Hawkeye likes it when formalities are observed. Roy waits for several long moments, listening to the birds in the old oak tree and watching the wisps of clouds high in the sky. When there is no response, he knocks again.

Still no response. It strikes him as odd, as he could swear he hears the familiar sounds of life inside the Hawkeye house. Finally deciding he has waited long enough, he pushes the door open cautiously. There is no immediate response to his appearance, so he pushes the door open all the way and discovers a perfectly empty sitting room. Listening carefully, he realizes all of the sounds he recognizes are coming from the kitchen at the back of the house. Setting aside his suitcase and jacket, he closes the door and ventures inside to find the household's missing residents.

The distinct sound of water running meets his ears as he opens the door to the kitchen, and he realizes this is why his knocks were not answered. His entrance again not immediately noticed, Roy takes a moment to take in the scene before him.

The kitchen—one of his favorite rooms in the house—is an absolute disaster. Dirty pans and dishes are strewn across the stovetop and countertops. Many of the dishes are covered in hardened food as if they have been there for some time. Usually kept in immaculate condition by Riza, the scene is completely foreign. In fact, the only thing in the least bit familiar is Riza herself, standing at the sink with her back towards him, working furiously to clean up the mess.

Roy realizes with a sly grin that focused on her task, his master's daughter has not yet noticed that he is here. And being who he is, he cannot help but take advantage of the situation. He sneaks across the room, careful to make sure that his shoes do not squeak and that he does not burst out in anticipatory laughter.

Poor Riza will never see it coming.

She is not generally ticklish, but there is one particular spot, just above her hips, that Roy long ago discovered she is vulnerable. He takes one more step and then not wanting to push his luck, seizes his opportunity. Riza lets out a small squeak of surprise, but instead of the string of giggles he is expecting, she struggles in his arms and finally lands a sharp elbow to his gut. The blow catches him unaware and he staggers backwards, trying to catch his breath again.

"Mr. Mustang!" Riza exclaims, her surprise at discovering her attacker's identity causing her to slip back into a formality they have long ago done away with.

"Who were you expecting?" Roy asks breathlessly, still leaning on his knees for support, "That hurt like hell."

"Well it serves you right," Riza says, and Roy is not particularly surprised that she does not apologize, "you scared me half to death."

"Riza, who would sneak up on you in the kitchen?" Roy asks, his breath finally returning.

"Apparently just my father's most obnoxious pupil," she snaps.

The wounded-puppy look he is giving her must work, because Riza's eyes soften just the tiniest bit looking at him. She—somewhat grudgingly—offers him a hand and pulls him to a standing position once more. He rubs his abdomen as if looking for more sympathy; she pointedly ignores him.

"Welcome back," she offers instead, and though she is clearly still trying to sound annoyed, she is not quite able to keep the smile from her face as she says it.

Roy grins widely enough for the both of them. "Miss me?" he asks and when she merely rolls her eyes, he continues, "What happened in here? It looks like it hasn't been cleaned since I left."

Riza's eyes narrow, and Roy knows without a doubt that he has just said the_ wrong thing_. It is one of those moments that he has to marvel at her ability to say everything without actually _saying_ anything. It is an ability that both awes and scares him—awes, because before he met her he did not realize how much one could say so much without speaking, and scares, because there is always the possibility that he hears something different than what she is actually trying to say. But this time, though he is not sure exactly why, he is fairly certain that the look she is giving him is suggesting that if he keeps making comments he will find himself sleeping outside for the next week.

"What I mean is… uh…" he attempts to cover up his unintentional mistake.

Riza merely sighs, shaking her head. "No, it's fine. I'm just not in the best of moods this morning. I came home from spending a few days with an old childhood friend and this is what I come home to," she says, gesturing at the mess, "And of course Father has gone to town for the day to pick up a few alchemical research texts and I'm left cleaning up his mess. Honestly, it's like the man is a child. Leave him alone for a few days and he practically destroys the house."

It takes all of Roy's self-control not to laugh because_ of course_ the house was a mess if Berthold Hawkeye has been left to his own devices; it is a miracle the man remembered to eat without his daughter bringing him three meals a day, let alone remembering to clean up after himself. However, Riza obviously does not see the humor in the situation, and Roy sees no reason to get on her bad side—not when he has just gotten back and cannot help but notice how she seems somehow prettier than he remembered.

So he merely smiles at her, and grabbing the dish towel from the counter, he offers, "Well, now you're not the only one here. I can help out."

She merely stares at him, as if she does not quite believe his offer is genuine.

"I do know how to wash dishes, Riza," he says with a chuckle, "and how else would I keep myself entertained if you were stuck in here all afternoon?"

"Fine, I'll wash, you dry," she says curtly, though Roy notices her eyes have crinkled a bit in the corners.

The work is slow going. Many of the dishes have been allowed to sit for some time and take no small amount of scrubbing to get clean. Roy takes it upon himself to not only dry and stack the clean dishes, but also to keep his companion entertained while they work. It is hardly a difficult undertaking as he has always had a flare for storytelling and Riza is by far his favorite audience.

It is difficult to think, he muses as they lull into a comfortable silence, that this young woman is the same girl he met on his first visit to the house three years ago. Back then she was so quiet around him—not shy, just reserved, as if he had not yet earned the right to hear her thoughts. Riza scared him back then, not just because she was a girl his own age—he was used to his sisters back home, but this was _different_—but because she always seemed to be hiding something behind those knowing amber eyes. It only took a few months at the Hawkeye household for him to get over his fear and make it his personal mission to discover just what that secret was.

Now, of course, he knows that often what is hiding behind those eyes is some cutting, witty remark or observation. From all outward appearances Riza is rather serious for her age, but Roy knows she has a dry sense of humor to rival any of the giggling girls he has met in his visits to the city. These days Riza rarely even has to say aloud what she is thinking to leave Roy in stitches. In return, Roy takes an odd sort of pleasure from causing her to break from her normal straight-faced manner with even the smallest of smiles.

Today, despite Riza's claim that she is in an off mood, he finds her smiles coming more easily than most days. And more than once he finds himself loosing his train of thought, distracted by those same smiles. It is hardly the first time he has found himself preoccupied by his master's daughter—he _is_ a teenage boy, after all—but maybe because he has just spent several weeks away, today he is finding everything about her more enthralling.

Roy glances at her surreptitiously, and finds she is staring thoughtfully out the window across the back lawn. There is sunlight streaming through the open window, playing in the strands of her hair and across her cheeks. Roy is momentarily lost and is only brought back to reality by Riza mindlessly handing him the next plate. He glances down at the weight suddenly in his hands and realizes she, too, must have been truly lost in thought, as there is a large glob of soap bubbles left in the middle of the plate.

"Hey, Riza," Roy says casually.

"Hmm?" she responds, snapped from whatever daydream had taken her away.

"You missed a spot," he says with a grin, blowing the bubbles at her.

Suds land across her face and hair, Riza staring at him as though momentarily stunned. It is not until she carefully wipes the bubbles from the tip of her nose that she seems to realize exactly what has happened, and an appallingly threatening grin spreads across her face. Without a word, she scoops a large handful of bubbles from the sink and blows them his direction, covering him, as well. Their eyes lock for a second, gauging one another—until Roy grabs a clean mug from the counter, dips it in the sink, and dumps the soapy water unceremoniously over her head.

Riza sputters for a moment and then with sheer determination in her eyes, she says, "Roy Mustang, you are going to pay for that."

"Only if you can catch me!" Roy answers, already attempting to put the kitchen table between them.

And with that, the battle has begun. Suddenly soapy water is flying from every direction, the two teenagers chasing each other around the room with cups, bowls, and pans full to the brim. After some time, Riza corners Roy, looking self-congratulatory as she bears down on him with a large pot. It is only as she gets close enough to attack that she realizes Roy has been sketching a transmutation circle with charcoal on the back of his hand, and as he touches the water now covering the tile floor, a veritable wave rises up and drenches the girl.

Taking advantage of Riza's momentary pause, Roy dashes across the room. He hears Riza behind him, and he takes a sudden turn behind the table. He glances over his shoulder with a gloating grin just in time to see her lose her balance on the slippery floor. He clumsily tries to wheel around and catch her, one arm cinched tightly around her waist. For a split-second, he thinks he has rescued her from a nasty fall, until her momentum causes _him_ to lose his balance and sends them both crashing to the floor.

With his arms still around her waist, Roy has no way to catch himself and lands hard on his back, his head snapping against the tile painfully. Riza is saved from the brunt of the fall by landing on top of him, though she hardly manages to do so gracefully. She lands flat across his chest, her hands still gripping his shoulders as though looking for support.

"Ouch," Roy moans, still seeing stars as he rubs the back of his head gingerly.

"It serves you right," Riza reprimands, pushing herself away from his chest so she ends up seated across his waist, "this is all your fault."

"All my fault?" Roy repeats, still not trusting himself to move, "I hardly think I could have done this much damage to your kitchen by myself."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Riza says dryly, "I've seen the state of father's study some days after your lessons."

"Oh give me a break, woman," he complains, "I've just given myself a concussion trying to save you from certain peril."

"Some savior you turned out to be. I still fell, you know," she banters with a teasing smile, leaning over him once more.

"Yeah, I noticed," Roy responds. Their noses are almost touching, and he cannot seem to come up with a wittier comeback with her so close.

Riza's cheeks tint pink at the comment, but she does not move away. In the silence that follows, her amber eyes are wide, all hint of mischief gone, and Roy wonders vaguely if he is the only one having trouble remembering how to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Riza is still here, hovering over him, and Roy is suddenly fighting the urge to pull her close and kiss her senseless. He is on the verge of doing just that when suddenly she is gone, pulling away to sit a few feet from him on the floor. She pulls her knees up in front of her protectively, and for a moment she looks just like the shy girl he met years ago.

In her absence, Roy suddenly feels a chill settle over him, so he sits up, as well, pulling himself next to her—damp shoulder against damp shoulder. She gives him a questioning look, and he merely gives her a faint smile in return.

Riza sighs, glancing at the mess they have made. "We had better get this cleaned up," she says, "Father would kick us both out of the house if he found it like this."

"Kicked out? Just for having a bit of fun?" Roy questions, "That seems a bit harsh. Surely there are worse things we could have done."

"Worse than practically destroying his kitchen?" Riza asks with a laugh, "Like what?"

"Hmm…" Roy says, stroking his chin dramatically, "Set a heard of goats loose in his library?"

Riza's eyes go wide as she loses herself in laughter, "Or cut down his favorite tree for a glorious bonfire."

"A bonfire to which we invite the other kids from town, and collectively we eliminate his entire wine collection," Roy embellishes.

"Or you could whisk me away to the city for a splendid adventure without telling him," Riza suggests grandly.

"Of course! We'll sample the best food in the city, and afterwards, maybe I'll even prove to you that I can dance," Roy adds.

"We'll explore the streets of the city all night, because there's no one to scold us for staying out," Riza says, eyes alight. She's leaning towards him, caught up in the excitement of their imagined adventure.

"And we'll watch the sun rise over East River, sitting on the edge of Old Bridge, and…" Roy trails off, suddenly distracted by a piece of hair that has fallen in her eyes. He pushes it behind her ear and she blushes a lovely shade of pink.

This time he cannot help himself. It's a simple thing, a perfect single kiss placed upon her lips. But to Roy, it feels like the most momentous thing he has ever done. And it is all he can do not to cheer aloud when she does not push him away.

Riza's eyes are wide afterwards, and Roy searches her for some indication of how she feels about his forwardness, but all she offers is, "I think that alone would be enough to get you kicked out."

"True," Roy says slowly, still watching her for any sign of emotion. It might be his imagination, but he could swear she is fighting back a smile. Hopes encouraged, he adds, "but maybe some risks are worth taking?"

Her face settles into—well, if not a smile, then a look of contentment, as if she was worried he regretted the spontaneous action. "Maybe you're right," she says quietly.

Roy waits for no more invitation, moving in with the intent to capture her lips in a more passionate kiss. He finds himself halted, however, but a single finger on his lips.

His disappointment must be obvious, because Riza laughs and adds, "After we clean up. If we hurry, there should still be time before Father returns."

Roy only just bites back a groan, wondering if it will always be like this with her.

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><p>(Sorry, Roy, it totally will be.)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Okay, so this chapter took much, much longer than it was supposed to. Honestly, I really like the concept, but there were a few moments I wasn't sure about characterization... and you all know how picky I am about that sort of thing. Still not sure if I'm 100% happy, but I decided it was time to throw it out to the world to decide.

As always, reviews and critiques welcomed. I don't think there's much else to say except... can I bribe you with cookies? :)

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><p><em>Roy's memories of the time that followed that afternoon took on a golden hue. His days were filled with progress in his alchemy, thanks to his master, and his nights—when they could sneak away—were filled with knowledge of a different sort thanks to his master's daughter. They were the happiest days of his life, and it was only the knowledge that came with age that made him realize it had been his own actions that had brought those golden days crashing down.<em>

_Like all young people, he had moments when he tended toward the cocky and self-important. On one such occasion, an argument sparked with Master Hawkeye which ended when Roy arrogantly demanded the still-unperfected but none the less powerful beginnings of flame alchemy. Hawkeye-sensei promptly kicked Roy out of the house, declaring the boy was not ready for such power and telling him not to return until he could prove he was. _

_Angry and shamed, Roy left immediately, without so much as a goodbye to the woman who meant so much to him. He wrote her, of course, not even a week later, to explain his actions and apologize. And though she claimed to have forgiven him, there was a distance in her reply that made it clear he had permanently damaged the relationship he valued so highly. _

_When Roy returned to the Hawkeye house several months later, it was with the express intent of proving he was worthy of his Master's best-kept secret and—perhaps more importantly—his Master's daughter. Learn flame alchemy, win Riza back—two goals he was sure he was capable of accomplishing. And then Master Hawkeye died, and all his plans went to hell. _

_Roy did everything he could for Riza, but even after the weeks he spent with her learning flame alchemy, they were no closer to rekindling their relationship. He saw signs of every conceivable emotion as she dealt with the death of her father, except anything to suggest she had lingering feelings for him, and Roy certainly would not push her—not at a time like this. When he left for active duty, all he could hope was that maybe when he returned he would have another chance. _

_He knew when she showed up on the battlefield all of those hopes were moot. She was no longer the "girl back home" that Hughes always liked to imagine Roy was hiding. Now Riza was a fellow soldier—a fellow killer—and they hardly had time to sort out their feelings for one another when they were both shouldering so much guilt and doubt. _

_Even when Riza volunteered to follow him after the war, Roy recognized the faith and loyalty she was showing, but could not take the time to consider what deeper feelings they might both still be harboring. Besides, she was his subordinate now—one of the most able and steadfast soldiers he had ever met. He _needed_ her to watch his back. It would be stupid to try to pursue her and end up losing his most valuable asset to fraternization laws in the process. _

_So they worked, and they built a team, and it was not until they were working in East City that Roy began to realize that he had doomed himself. In accepting Riza to his team, he had gained a remarkable officer and comrade, but he had also guaranteed that he could not have the woman he now knew he still loved. He needed her watching his back, yes, but he needed her by his side, too. Even after the hell they had been through and the scars they both showed, no one complemented him so perfectly, and he could tell by watching her that she knew and felt just the same. So Mustang was stuck, his woman both constantly with him and forever out of reach. It was a maddening predicament, caused by rigid rules he could not hope to change until all of his other goals had been accomplished. _

_But all rules are meant to be broken, or at least bent. And while Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye usually followed them to a tee, lest they be separated, they did have one chance to say to hell with them all. _

_So the first time the _Colonel_ kissed his _Lieutenant_, it was out of sheer necessity. _

_However, it was not out of the "I-can't-live-without-you-burning-undeniable-passion-and-desire" type of necessity, despite what those close to him would have likely guessed. No, it was more out of the "shit-we're-stuck-in-a-bind-and-this-might-be-the-only-way-to-save-our-necks" sort of necessity. And more surprising still, it had not even been _his_ idea…_

It was back in his days in East City, when it still felt strange to introduce himself as _Colonel _Mustang and his grand plans for reforming the country were still little more than vague ideas.

The call had come from Maes Hughes late on a Friday afternoon. The Lieutenant Colonel had received a tip about a weapons-smuggling ring out of the Eastern border town of Cameron. Much to Hughes' dismay, however, the higher ups were hesitant to act because the tip was "too vague" and "not reliable enough." Because Hughes insisted the intel was good, and that a big weapons delivery for the Eastern Liberation Front was planned in two weeks, the Colonel agreed to look into the matter discreetly. If they simply happened to _stumble_ _upon_ any evidence, Hughes could persuade the investigations division to act on the information.

Mustang and Hawkeye set out alone the next morning, despite Havoc's loud complaints that the First Lieutenant was "the only one who gets to have any fun around here." When Roy picked her up the next morning, they were still soldiers. By the time they had reached the train station, they were just Robert and Elizabeth, a young couple from East City departing for a weekend getaway. There was a well-known series of canyons in the desert surrounding Cameron that frequently attracted visitors. Travelers, the two had decided, would seem less suspicious asking probing questions about the area and local merchants.

The train arrived in Cameron around midday, and the two spent the afternoon making their way through the town, talking with locals and picking up spare bits of information. They were the image of a blissful young couple, arms looped or fingers intertwined, quietly teasing one another and laughing at jokes only they truly understood. In fact the only problem with their cover was how easy it was to forget they were acting at all.

_Colonel_ _Mustang, the Flame Alchemist_, was a flirt, a player, possibly even a womanizer. Whatever the case, he certainly enjoyed the frequent company of varied women. Roy Mustang, the man behind the Flame Colonel façade, on the other hand, had only wanted one woman for as long as he could remember. Typically those emotions she elicited in him could be compartmentalized, suppressed by the pressing nature of their work—though he was never completely successful at doing so. Having her so close, yet out of reach, took its toll on him. The only thing that allowed him to stay within professional bounds was the knowledge that should they succeed in their work, there would be a day when they would no longer have to worry about such repercussions.

Of course, he frequently considered saying "to hell with the rules" and trying it anyway. He was tempted more often than he would ever admit. This was _Hawkeye_, after all—beautiful, loyal, intelligent, brave. She had this pull over him, this unnamable attraction. It was what made her more beautiful covered in dust and smelling of gun powder than any other woman dressed for a night on the town. It was what made him want her more when she was scolding him about his work than he had ever wanted any other woman whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

On top of it all was the maddening knowledge that she felt just as strongly. If he knew Hawkeye at all—and he liked to think he knew her pretty well—then there was no mistaking the half-smiles and looks she gave him on a daily basis. The lieutenant was suffering just as much because of their current arrangement, and that made it all the harder to resist her.

However, though neither knew when they would truly be able to be together, they had been given an opportunity today, and both seemed ready to take advantage of it. After all, it was not really necessary to keep his arm around her the _whole_ time they were maneuvering crowds. And there was no real reason for her to play with his fingers as they waited for their coffee at lunch. For today, with no one here to watch and the perfect cover story, the line between professional relationship and something more could blur—a glimpse of the future they could possibly share.

They worked their way through the town slowly, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, so it was early afternoon before they stumbled upon valuable information. A gossipy shopkeeper let it slip that a mechanical shop on the other side of town had recently begun receiving an unusually high number of deliveries, especially strange considering the economic rut most of the East had been in as of late.

"It matches the info Hughes got from his informant," Roy said as they stepped into a quiet alleyway off the street, "Do you think it's enough?"

"At this point all of the evidence is still circumstantial," Riza answered thoughtfully, "I think we had better check out this shop and see if we can find anything more concrete."

"My thoughts exactly," he concurred, then offering an arm like a true gentleman, "Shall we, Elizabeth?"

Hawkeye wrinkled her nose at the name—she had voiced her strong disapproval when he given her the moniker earlier. "Yes, of course, Robert," she said, looping her arm through his. The emphasis on his own name made it clear she knew he was equally unhappy with the alias she had given him.

He chuckled lightly as he set off toward the busy street, glancing down to find two amber eyes watching him intensely. Her gaze took him off guard, and he faltered. "Lieutenant," he began quietly.

"Sir?" she asked, her gaze now quizzical.

All of his thoughts about her from the day's interactions were suddenly on the tip of his tongue. There was no one here to hear, no one to turn them in. If ever there was a chance to air their feelings in the open, it was now. But no, he concluded finally, this was not the right time. It would not be fair to either one of them to begin something they could not continue once they returned to the city. Today would have to stand on its own, a beautiful glimpse of a future they could hope for.

She was waiting for an answer, and he sighed, his eyes softening. "Thank you for being here," he said simply, "I'm sorry you had to give up your weekend."

"I could certainly think of worse ways to spend it," she answered with a light smile before pulling him down the alley, "Now, c'mon, we have work to do."

The shop in question was on the opposite side of town, so by the time they reached the street the sun had already sunk below the horizon. The last twinges of red were fading into purple in the sky to the west and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on. It was hardly a bustling street, but there was enough foot traffic that they did not stand out as they ambled down the street, carefully taking in the scene.

The mechanical shop about was tucked between a grocer and a seamstress's storefront. Though the outside was perhaps a bit shoddy, there was nothing in its appearance to suggest illegal activity. A faded sign on the door announced that the shop was still open. A look and a nod were all that was needed to agree to check the place out.

Dingy windows filtered out most of the light from the streetlamps outside, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Haphazardly-organized shelves, cracked tile flooring, an ancient cash register manned by a bored sales clerk—on all fronts, the shop seemed nothing but ordinary. But Mustang was nothing if not thorough in his investigations, so with a bored wave to the shop keeper, he and Hawkeye split up to check out the rest of the store.

Mustang was toying with several old automail pieces on a shelf near the front window, nearly ready to call this lead a bust when he felt two soft fingers on the back of his hand. It was too firm, too direct to be a casual touch. One squeeze, two—Hawkeye had found something suspicious. He gave her an inquiring look, and she nodded her head almost imperceptibly toward the front door.

Another bored wave, the tinkling of bells on the door, and they were once again out in the quickly-fading sunlight. Without a word, she tugged him into the alley between the shop and the grocer's.

"I could hear bits and pieces of a meeting going on the backroom—but not enough to be sure it was weapons they were discussing. I'm hoping there's a window to the room where we can listen," she muttered as they made their way down the alley.

Finally, as though some deity had heard her hope and deigned to grant it, there was a short window right at ground level. It was propped open an inch or two, letting in fresh air to what was undoubtedly a basement room. Gruff voices were just barely audible inside. Squatting next to the window—though careful to stay out of the line of sight—they listened with held breath.

"…don't care what we agreed on!" came a rough voice from inside, "This ain't no standard business deal. This is the Liberation Fron' we're dealin' with an' I'm not takin' no chances."

"But they say they'll only meet on neutral territory," another voice interjected.

"An' _I_ say we meet on our turf," the first voice argued again, "Our turf or no weapons. Tha's the deal _I'll_ agree to."

A voice answered this assertion, quieter, and Mustang shifted closer to the window to hear. Unfortunately, he moved in just the right way as to catch his heel on the rubbish bin behind him. The thin metal echoed loudly as the lid tumbled off. The two officers froze, both praying silently that the sound would go unnoticed by those on the other side of the window.

"What was that?" a different voice asked sharply, "Sounded close."

There was a moment of silence, and Roy could almost feel all of the eyes in the room staring at the small window. It was a straight gamble now—whether the room's occupants would come investigate or choose to ignore it.

"Could be somebody's snoopin' around," said the original voice, quieter now. Mustang presumed it to belong the leader of the group, "can' risk it, can we? Not with this deal comin' up. Rocko, go around the back and check it out. Jorman, go around front and stop anyone coming from that alley."

Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged a look. They couldn't stay and be caught, obviously; they were going to have to run. And doing so would make it quite obvious to anyone still sitting inside that they had, in fact, been eavesdropping. None the less, it was their only option at this point. With a glance over her shoulder at the back door that would be opening in mere seconds, Hawkeye pointed towards their only possible route of escape—another alley running perpendicular to the one in which they were sitting. They had just ducked around the corner when they heard one of the men sound the alarm.

Without so much as a glance over their shoulders, they veered off from the main alley into another between two unimposing buildings—no more than an opening of a few feet. As they took the turn at full-speed, Mustang watched helplessly as Hawkeye lost her footing, crumpling to the ground. In typical fashion the stoic lieutenant was already attempting to push herself to her feet by the time he reached her side.

"Are you all right?" he whispered urgently, wrapping and arm around her and helping her right herself.

"There was an open drain I didn't see in the dark. I just lost my footing," she answered dismissively, then attempting a step, "_Shit_, my ankle."

Mustang kept an arm firmly around her as she tested the foot again gingerly; she let out a hissed string of swear words. In the quiet he listened for the sound of approaching footsteps, but instead heard only the strains of an argument. From the sound of things, their would-be pursuers were arguing about which direction the eavesdroppers had run.

"Maybe they'll choose the wrong direction?" Hawkeye suggested, but she hardly sounded hopeful.

No sooner had she spoken than a clear voice cut through the darkness, "We'll just have to split up, then. You four that way, the rest of you with me."

The look Hawkeye gave him made it clear they were thinking the same thing—this was _bad_. They were out-numbered, and judging by the amount of weight he was supporting, she was in no condition to walk, let alone evade capture. The Flame Colonel and the military's best sniper had enough fire power between them to handle any foreseeable threat, but doing so would undo all of their careful work to keep this operation low key. None the less, he could see no other option. Grudgingly he pulled his gloves from his pockets, cursing the way his thoughts seemed stuck in molasses.

"Sir, we can't," Hawkeye hissed.

"Do you have a better idea?" Mustang muttered, silently hoping she actually did.

For a moment, she looked uncertain, biting her lip thoughtfully. Then with a decisive nod, she muttered, "I'll apologize for this later."

Before he had a chance to respond, she pulled his head roughly down to hers, pushing him backwards towards the wall of the alley as their lips crashed together.

If Mustang's mind had been working slowly before, now it had stopped completely. Suddenly there was a beautiful blonde lieutenant in his arms, and all thought had been erased from his mind. Slowly his mind tried to catch up with exactly what had happened.

In truth, he realized finally, this was nothing more than a last-ditch attempt at evading capture. If they were to be discovered, they would need a plausible excuse for being so far from the beaten path at such an hour. Hawkeye had given them just that. They would hardly be the first couple to sneak away to be together in such a manner. If they could just play it cool when they were discovered, they could quite effectively hide in plain sight. Mustang grinned against her lips—he had always known she was brilliant.

Taking in the situation they had found themselves in, he realized they had instinctively positioned themselves favorably should a fight become necessary. He kept a firm arm around her waist, supporting her so she would not have to put weight on her injured ankle; she used a hand braced against the brick wall behind him to balance herself. Hawkeye was a quick draw and an able shooter with both hands, and with one hand free she would have no issue pulling any of the number of weapons they had hidden on them. _His_ free hand was gloved and that was all the weapon he would need. She would only need to rotate a step away from him and the opposition would not know what had hit them.

The sound of footsteps reached the end of their tiny alley. "Oy! You!" someone yelled harshly.

At the sound, Hawkeye ripped her lips from his as if startled, but she made no attempt to move any further from him. Her face was a mixture of surprise and trepidation as she glanced down the alley at the four thugs blocking the entrance. As he felt her hand snake to the gun he had concealed on his hip—currently more accessible than any of hers—he had to marvel at her ability to play the startled damsel.

Not allowing time for discussion, the leader-apparent of the group continued, "You see anyone run down this way? Two, maybe three guys?"

"No, sorry," Mustang answered for them, running a hand through his hair roughly and glancing down at the woman in his arms, "but we were a bit… preoccupied."

There was a moment of tense silence as each group sized the other up—the leader of the group obviously deciding whether their story was legitimate, and the two officers silently making a plan of attack should the need arise. Apparently deciding the two were no threat, the large man huffed and turning back towards where they had come from. "C'mon you lot, they must have run the other way. We'll go check in with the others."

At his words they began to move out, but the leader's decision to dismiss the couple did not stop several of the thugs from shooting suspicious glances over their shoulders as they left. Not wanting to cast any doubt on their story, Mustang turned back to Hawkeye, using his arm around her waist to pull her in close once more. "Now, where were we, Elizabeth?" he asked in a tone so overtly suggestive he felt positively ridiculous.

The giggle Hawkeye gave reminded him he was not the only one acting—she had not acted so girlish since they were children—but the look she gave him through heavy-lidded eyes was enough to make it clear "Elizabeth" wasn't the only one invested in this moment. She grinned impishly, cocking an eyebrow at him; it was all the invitation he needed. Bracing his hand on the side of her neck, he captured her lips with his.

Where their last kiss had been tempered by caution, this one was positively reckless. It was a take-no-prisoners sort of kiss. Mustang could feel her heartbeat beneath his fingers, pounding as erratically as his own. It was a dangerous game they were playing, pushing boundaries better left uncrossed. But for this brief moment there were no barriers to keep them apart, and Roy couldn't get enough of her.

It was her that finally pulled back, their breathing uneven as she rested her forehead against his. "I think they're gone," she whispered, eyes still halfway closed.

He nodded slowly, not releasing his grip on her waist. Silently he watched as she opened her eyes lazily, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. And he watched as the reality of what had just happened crashed over her, as her relaxed air was replaced by anxiety.

She tensed, moving as far away from him as his arm and her ankle would allow. "Sir, please allow me to apologize for my actions," she said formally, "They were inappropriate and out of line."

"At ease, Lieutenant," he replied with a low chuckle, "You saved our asses. That's nothing to apologize for."

She merely bowed her head at his words, eyes carefully avoiding his.

"Your ankle," he asked as she tested her weight on it.

"I think it's just sprained, but I'll need your help getting back tonight."

He nodded mutely, but made no attempt to move from their current position. And though she was still somewhat tense, she seemed in little rush to start what would undoubtedly be a painful journey.

_What a night_, Mustang thought to himself. Nothing had gone according to plan. Of course, some of the unexpected turns were not at all unwelcome. None the less, it was a good thing no higher ups would need to be filled in on the details of the trip.

"Well at least there won't be any paperwork for his venture," he said, only a hint of taunting in his voice, "I shudder to think of what the higher ups would think of your methods."

"_My_ methods? I thought you were just thanking me for saving your ass," Hawkeye retorted.

"Sure, but still," Mustang said, his tone more overtly teasing now, "I never expected you to be so forward."

The look she gave him made it clear she was not amused by his teasing. "Bite your tongue, sir," she said dangerously.

He grinned cheekily at her, "Well if it's all the same to you, I'd rather you do it inst—"

The distinct _click_ of a gun being cocked stopped him instantly. "Finish that sentence and so help me your tongue will be the least of your worries," she said evenly.

The Colonel gulped and held up his free hand in defeat. Hawkeye continued to glare, but slipped the gun back inside its holster. Then suddenly she looked up at him with a devilish grin.

"What?" Mustang questioned, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I was just thinking," she answered, amber eyes mischievous, "Aren't you glad you didn't give into Havoc's whining and bring him instead?"

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><p>(I just love imagining Roy's face after that)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hello again, lovely people. I think this is going to be the last chapter of this particular series. There is an epilogue of sorts floating around in my mind, but if I write/publish it, it will be in a separate story. **

**Also, this chapter does have some spoilers for the very end of the manga/brotherhood. Fair warning. **

**Lastly, as always, reviews/critiques are appreciated more than you can possibly imagine. You all mean the world to me!**

**-Em **

* * *

><p>The first time he kisses Riza Hawkeye for real, it's a disbelieving prayer of thanksgiving.<p>

The events surrounding the promised day were not easily forgotten nor cleaned up. The damage and loss of human life was extensive and the country was left temporarily leaderless beyond the Fuhrer, all of the military's top brass either arrested as criminals or convalescing in Central's now overbooked hospitals.

Olivier Armstrong managed to escape attempted-coddling within 48 hours—a feat that both astounds and inspires envy amongst soldiers left in stark white rooms. Soon enough, however, others followed. To no one's surprise, though, those kept longest are the newly minted _General_ Mustang, and the Elric boys. Even after Marcoh's seemingly miraculous healing, the Flame alchemist is kept several more days for observation—much to his consternation.

So, when he finally arrives back in East City—a few more bars and stars adorning his uniform than the last time he had been stationed here—he feels a bit like he has arrived late to the rebuilding of the country and has ground to make up.

They set to work immediately—Roy making important phone calls before the boxes have all been delivered to his new office. After all, there is work to be done and he more than trusts Hawkeye with the task of ensuring all of the files and equipment are properly installed in their new home. Despite his fervor, he feels strange working in Grumman's old office It's not until Havoc—newly returned—points out that the General spends more time in the staff office than his own that Roy realizes it's not the formal desk and fancy wood paneling that make his office feel wrong. It's the lack of his team.

So it is bright and early on a Monday morning that the General announces that he is officially moving offices. There is an extra desk in with Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Fallman, and Fuery, and the King thinks he has spent enough time away from the rest of his team for a lifetime.

Of course, such sentiments are not as easily understood by all of the Eastern Headquarters staff, and it is a young Colonel who finally speaks his concerns over the General's plans.

"Sir, you are to move _all_ day-to-day activities to this secondary office?" the young man asks, and though his tone suggests he is only clarifying details, the look in his eyes shows he finds the General's plans more than a bit odd.

The two men are standing in the hallway, the elder here originally to oversee the movement of several bookshelves and filing cabinets from the General's office to the auxiliary one he will now occupy _with_ his team. At present moment, Breda and Fallman are moving a particularly heavy cabinet. Havoc, still not fully returned to his original strength, is watching and making snide remarks about the speed of his comrades' work. These remarks are met with a several choice words from Breda. Hawkeye and Fuery, who are holding open the oak office doors, merely share a look and a smirk. Their commander has trouble keeping one from his face, as well.

"Yes, Colonel, is that a problem?" Mustang answers finally.

"Of course not, but… just—" the young officer struggles, "Isn't it a bit _unseemly_ for a man of your rank to work in such a setting?"

"Unseemly?" Mustang repeats as if he might not have heard correctly, "I have dirtied my hands with these men in war, fought alongside them, bloodied and close to exhaustion, through the streets and sewers of Central on the Promised Day. After all of that, I hardly think sharing an office with them is likely to tarnish my reputation, do you?"

The man is speechless.

"There is nothing more important in life than a group of loyal allies. Nothing, Colonel," Mustang continues, and for a split second his eyes meet Hawkeyes and he wonders if she can hear him, "The most valuable and important piece of advice I can ever give you is this—should you ever be so lucky as to find said loyal allies, you keep them as close as possible."

Cabinet now past the doors, Hawkeye has slipped out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind her. She has turned the full force of her amber gaze on him, and Mustang is sure by the small smile on her lips that she has, in fact, heard every word he has said. For a moment, they are the only ones there.

"Understood, sir," says the Colonel, drawing his superior back to reality.

Mustang dismisses the young man distractedly, looking again to find Hawkeye. He feels a stab of disappointment when he discovers the Lieu—_no, Captain_, he reminds himself—has turned back to her work with the other members of the team, instructing them on where to place the newly-accumulated furniture.

Mustang, though now free to join them, lingers in the corridor, lost in thought. He has found himself conflicted on the matter of his most loyal subordinate of late. The days leading up to the Promised Day had been so free from military hierarchy and protocol that he had found many of the barriers to their relationship brought down. Though, of course, they were both too busy and too focused to take advantage of such liberty, to explore what exactly their relationship was without all of the pretense and professionalism.

And, of course, it was only as she lay dying in his arms that he realized that he had been _too_ focused. The most precious thing in his life lay cradled in his arms, slipping away, and he had never even ventured to _tell_ her. Never mind that she knew, never mind that she had known since they had been but children—she had deserved to hear it from _his_ lips. And when the tiny princess miraculously stopped the bleeding in time, he swore to any deity that would listen that, should they somehow both manage to survive, he would finally admit aloud just how much the mere act of him living and breathing depended on her existence.

Then he had been injured and—temporarily—blinded, and there had been so much work to get done. Though there is hardly concern about fraternization these days—her grandfather is the _Fuhrer_, after all, and seems to support the idea wholeheartedly—he has still not ventured to put into words all the things she deserves to hear. No time feels right. In a world where they are all struggling to find time to eat and catch a few hours' rest, when is the right moment to tell your childhood friend and lifetime comrade that life would be utterly pointless without her by your side?

He has been close several times—once while she was driving him home, another time as they walked the virtually empty halls of headquarters after hours. Each time he backed down, and each time he hated himself for it. They have waited long enough for the opportunity to be truly together—why the hell was he wasting any more time? Each time, after berating himself fiercely, he finally decided the moment had not been right, but he would know when it was.

The sun is sinking low in the sky by the time the General finally joins his staff. And though there is still work to be done, he sends the team home because the afternoon, his discussion with the Colonel, and his musings about a certain officer have left him in an odd place; he is sure he would not be able to focus on anything productive. The office empties quickly, even Hawkeye wishing the General a good night as she and the rest of the King's men take their leave.

Silence falls, and the General waits until he is sure that his team is well gone before he digs deep into the pockets of his uniform for his ignition gloves. They are not as oft seen on the General's hands of late. Ostensibly, it is because has much less need of wartime alchemy these days. In truth he does not wear them because he is not sure, if it were to become necessary, that he could make use of them.

The tendons in his hands were badly damaged when Pride forced him to open the gate, and even more so in the battle following. Now, after healing, he still finds some old actions difficult to achieve—most noticeably, snapping. His hands feel stiff and are not always able to accomplish the swift, precise movement required to produce the spark his alchemy needs. His doctors assure him that the ability will return; he merely needs practice. General Mustang, man that he is, has not revealed he is weakened in such a way. He keeps his practice times to when he knows that he is alone, and he carries a lighter in his breast pocket—just in case.

His gloves feel like old friends, and methodically he practices snapping, finding the muscles difficult and stiff. But he soldiers on, his hands loosening until after a while he is producing a small spark about half of the time. Still, half is not good enough. Half means he or—heaven forbid—his allies are _dead_ half of the time. He lets out a colorful swear at the realization, not noticing the door to the office opening.

"Recovering from injuries takes time, General," Hawkeye says quietly, pulling the door closed behind her, "You can't expect it to happen over night."

"Captain. I thought you had gone home," Mustang says evenly, removing his gloves and placing them on the desk in front of him.

"No, sir. I needed to speak to another officer before he left for the night. He had data on the crop outlook in Ishval," she explains, placing a stack of papers on the edge of his desk.

Mustangs eyes them warily, exhaustion already filling his bones. "Tomorrow's work," he asserts tiredly.

She chuckles, but does not argue. They have both had a long day, and for once she does not seem interested in pestering him about his paperwork.

"Surely it didn't take all this time to track down your officer," the General says thoughtfully, "Why are you still here? You, of all people, deserve one night to yourself. You work too hard."

"Are you the pot or the kettle, tonight, sir?" she counters, perching on the side of his desk with a casual familiarity they rarely show in the office, "We both know you're exhausted. You're going to work yourself into the ground at this rate."

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "There is just so much to accomplish, so far to go," he admits, "Some days I feel like I'm struggling just to keep up."

"For tonight, I think you can afford to let it go," Hawkeye says, "Come on, I'll drive you home."

He nods, straightening the papers on his new desk. Hawkeye hands him his overcoat before he even thinks to ask for it. He smiles appreciatively, and as he pulls it on he asks quietly, "Do you think we can do it, Captain? There is still so far to go."

"You will accomplish what you set out to do, sir, I have no doubt," she answers, straightening the collar of his coat mindlessly.

The movement has brought them close to one another and for a moment Mustang finds himself lost in her—the glint in her amber eyes, the way her hair falls _just so_; it takes him a moment to realize what she has said.

"_I_ won't be accomplishing anything," he says, shaking his head. He grasps her hands where they still grip his coat, "at least not alone."

Her face is unreadable, but a in a flash of clarity Roy realizes _this_ is exactly the moment he as been waiting for. He pulls her hands from his coat and holds them tightly in his before soldiering on.

"I never would have made it this far without you," he says quietly, then trying to push the memory away, he adds, "and I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

She must hear the guilt in his voice, must notice the way his eyes cloud with the memory, because she reaches up and places a comforting hand against his cheek.

"But you didn't lose me. I'm right here," she says.

He does not point out that it was not him that saved her. He does not say that all of this could change in an instant, the most important person in his life snatched away before his very eyes. He does not contradict nor argue with her, because for once he is remembering how his mother always told him that worries and "what ifs" could kill a person. And because right now she is _here_, and that is all that matters.

"Yes, you're here," he agrees, "and I don't intend on letting that change anytime soon."

She does not seem surprised as he finally closes the gap between them with a kiss. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps that is because it is. They have been waiting for this for so long, putting aside personal wishes for the greater good. There is still much work to do, but the time for ignoring their feelings has passed. From now on, they are a team, truly _together_, and nothing except death itself is going to separate them.

The fact that his thoughts sound suspiciously like wedding vows is not lost on him, but Mustang does not think too much on it. That is something to worry about on another day. For now, they are content to merely hold one another close. After the many times they have been forced apart, it seems too greedy to wish for anything more.

**-FIN-**


End file.
